Give me an L.

What do you do when you can no longer ignore the loads of dirty laundry flooding the entire laundry closet? Make it "L" day!

Besides laundry, we listened to music, made flower leis, and learned a line dance (the Electric slide, to be exact). They rather enjoyed watching me relive my junior high school days.

Dear friends.

We don't get a lot of visitors here in Boise. Not a premier destination, I guess. My family comes the most, several times a year. Tim's family next, every time we have a baby (and a couple other visits besides). But as far as friends go, it seems that Boise is enough out of the way that we do not draw them from far and wide. We've had a grand total of two sets of friends stay with us here in our 6 years. Sad, because Boise actually boasts some of the greatest (inexpensive) outdoor recreation that is to be had. But don't tell anyone - unless they want to come stay with us, of course. Boiseans aren't crazy about crowds. Or Californians.

Last week our dear friends Chris and MaryAnne and their family stopped in overnight. Tim's known Chris since his early days as a missionary and since then we've all kind of been living parallel lives in separate states, serving missions, graduating from college, getting married and having kids within months of each other.

Since it was a short visit, we mostly talked and let the kids run wild, as evidenced by the acorn butter we discovered (too late) that Luke and Anna sold door-to-door on our street. Don't ask. But, we also fit in a quick trip to the zoo, accompanied by awesome weather and great company. Thanks for stopping in guys! Oh, and Tim says he might not pull out his shotgun if Luke wants to take Anna out in 10 or 11 years.

The only pictures we got were of the two lovebirds:





Saturday morning after they left, I took the kids to the farmer's market downtown and here was the craft Anna completed during the free art classes they offer:

You can't eat 'em.

I know my yard would be better put to use planting vegetables and fruits. We have a little bit of this and a little bit of that - strawberries, blueberries, tomatoes, herbs, onions, lettuce. Tim and I have finally carved out a bed in front for a row of raspberries.
But these are my true love.





I suppose I could eat them, if it really came to it, but until then I'll just eat my cereal while gazing out my kitchen window at the beautiful backdrop that is my flower garden.

4th of july bike parade.

Anna had finally earned enough money to buy the bike that I had secretly purchased at a yard sale a month earlier. At about 7 p.m. on July 3rd, I remembered the pancake breakfast/flag raising/bike parade scheduled at the church the next morning. What's a bike parade without a bike? I asked Anna if she would like to go look at a bike that she might be able to afford. She nodded and headed out to the car. I said, we don't need the car, we're going next door. My awesome neighbor opened her own garage door and gave Anna the greatest sales pitch I could ever have asked for and even offered to let Anna take the bicycle for a test drive. Anna declined, and instead whispered into my ear that she would like to buy the bike. Right there on the spot. She rode it in style in the Fourth of July bike parade.

And a couple more pictures taken down the street celebrating Independence Day.

From the garden.

I never have fresh herbs on hand. They cost a lot - and they come in these huge bunches so unless you're an amazing planner and can incorporate cilantro, or basil, or parsley into each meal for an entire week, it will inevitably go bad before you get to it all. Solution: grow your own herbs. I've always shied away from them and opted for tried and true tomatoes, lettuce or zucchini (ironically, the zucchini got stunted within its first two weeks this year, though.)
Best thing about growing herbs: you can clip as many leaves as you need at a time. Thanks to my cilantro plant, I've made two Indian dishes in the past two weeks and the most glorious grilled fish tacos ever tasted. All for the price of a packet of seeds - which will last me, I might add, 5 years if stored under optimal conditions.
The crowning jewel though, was the chicken pesto pizza we gobbled down last night when I noticed my basil was getting out of control. Yum. I hope it holds up until the tomato harvest. I can just smell the homemade spaghetti sauce now...

100 degrees.

100 plus degrees are in the forecast, your two youngest kids just got their shots, and you've invited seven extra kids (and one mom friend) over to play. Time to break out the kiddie pool and use your Little Tikes playset as a makeshift waterslide! Hours of fun in the sun.

Dragon breath.

Every once in a while I break down and buy a huge bag of Ruffles potato chips for the family. Tim loves them, you see. He especially loves to dip them in his own homemade onion dip. It's a mere cup of sour cream mixed in with dried minced onion - way better than any store-bought variety. Until a month ago, I refused to even try it. I couldn't get past the fact that my husband was dipping fat into fat and calling it food. Seriously gross. And then I gave into his pleadings that I test his concoction and, indeed, it was disgustingly delicious.
As one might expect, minced onions and sour cream do not fresh breath make. Every time Tim indulges in it at lunchtime, he is forfeiting his right to kisses for at least 24 hours. (If my husband actually read my blog, it would be at this point that he would be sure to interject and say that I haven't kissed him since our first year of marriage anyway, at least not the way he likes it, so what difference does it make?)
Rachel has developed a taste for Tim's yummy, breath-destroying dip. After eating her own lunch the other day, she saw Daddy eating chips and dip and requested some for herself. Except that she didn't eat the chips. She just dipped and licked, dipped and licked.
She joined me in bed an hour or so later for quiet time and, after a few stories, she turned to me and asked for a back scratch. Only then did I gasp for breath. It couldn't be. My adorable little two year old's sweet scent had morphed into that of a dog. Ew, ew, EW! No kisses for Rachel that day.

The foreigner.

In Taiwan, particularly in the more rural areas, the people have a habit of calling out "Foreigner!" upon seeing a non-Asian. About a year into my missionary experience there, I became so accustomed to eating the food and speaking the language that it was as if I had become one of them. When someone would shout out "Foreigner!" I no longer acknowledged their reference to me, but wondered who the heck they were talking about.
The same has happened in motherhood. There are times that I still feel conspicuous and slightly embarrassed by the size of the clan that I cart around daily. But mostly I've grown used to it, as if my children are simply extra appendages without whom I would feel strangely empty.
Yesterday when I went to the grocery store, I ran into a friend and her kids who greeted us with smiles (and a few offers of help) as we repeatedly saw them throughout the store. Then, as we were checking out my friend smiled knowingly and complimented my little helpers (who were busily loading our groceries onto the conveyor belt, tripping over each other as they went). Her years of having many little ones under foot have advanced into the preteen and teenage years but it was funny to see her giggle a bit at the sight of me and my brood. I was just doing what I do every day. I forget that not everyone has to shout out orders to the oldest, seat the next two in the "car" attached to the front of the cart, and carry the infant in her Baby Bjorn. Not everyone stops at the bakery for a free cookie? Shocking. Your kids have grown too mature to bother grabbing at the displays at the end of the aisles sending a bunch of merchandise tumbling to the floor? Lucky you. You mean, you can make it through the checkout without having to shout "put that back" a thousand times?
It's just a part of the routine. I've been walking this walk long enough that I rarely notice how much I stick out like a sore thumb. I'm sure that when my children have grown a few years, I'll see someone in my former position and smile at the memory of having my hands so full. And I'll send my children out to load her groceries in the car, just to lighten the load a bit.

(Thanks Tracy, although I'm pretty used to trying to do it all, your kids were so sweet to serve me.)

I've got an itch.

And I just can't scratch it. Travel deals are calling me. A friend told me I could fly our entire family (5 roundtrip tickets) to San Diego for $800. Yowsers. I also found a screaming deal to Boston for only $229 roundtrip per person. Can't. Give. In. Must. Save.
Yep. I like money in the bank even more.

Mr. Sweets

Meet our latest house guest (okay, that's not really him, but it might as well be. Not much variation in the hamster species). He's been dropped a few times. Kicked while running around inside his "ball" on the hardwood. He's peed and pooped on the floor. He's been squeezed by an overzealous 2-year-old. And his biggest fan has even declared him to be cuter than the baby. Poor Eve. She's been replaced by a rodent.
Mr. Sweets will only be staying with us for a month or so, until the next shift comes along to take over our duties as kindergarten class hamster babysitters. Until then, I think my kids' dreams of owning a dog have been quelled by his presence. Anna's already complained about having to clean his cage out - maybe this will be the beginning of the end of their begging for a puppy.

Are we having fun yet?

Man, I love summer. So much to do, so little time. When we sit down to dinner as a family, Tim always teases me about how "hard" my job is. While he is staring at a computer screen, I get to go to the zoo, the park, the pool, and play around with the kids all day. Nevermind the downside of my job (and there is one, some days more than others), he's right! I love being a mom! Especially during the summer when days are filled with endless fun and exploration. And a nap here and there. A few family firsts for the summer (no alliteration intended):

1. There's a park in a historic neighborhood in Boise called Camel's Back Park. We usually just hit the playground, though there's plenty else to do there, including hiking up a ridiculously steep (but short) hill to catch a view of the city. Anna has been begging to hike it the last few times we've been there, but, being the only adult, I just didn't trust my ability to get four kids up (and down) the crazy thing. Well, we dragged Dad along last time and did it. But I forgot to bring the camera. Maybe next time.

2. The pool is a mainstay in our summer routine, but this year I had plans to go only when Tim was available to come with, for obvious reasons (3 non-swimming children, perhaps?). Well, I've successfully taken them 3 times by myself and they've done great! Lily is even swimming by herself, of sorts.

3. We went to Settler's Park on the recommendation of a friend (thanks Amy!). One of my favorite Boise attributes is the plethora of good parks. They boast plenty of running space, ample shade, excellent play structures and even free lunch during the summer at a handful of them. Settler's Park, in Meridian (10 miles to the west) takes the cake - the kids loved the water play area! Fair-skinned Tim sat comfortably with Eve in the shade while I tended to the girls needs. I suppose it's lucky for the kids that I am the stay-at-home parent because he can't tolerate the same level of sun-exposure as I and would probably steer clear of so many of the fun things the kids and I get to do.

4. Eve is so close to sitting up! She's started to get a little pushy about what she wants, but what else would I expect from one of my daughters? Still, I am truly enjoying this adorable little girl as if she were our last (because she may, in fact, be our last).

5. Finally - every single one of my kids is currently taking a nap! We have had quiet time for years now, an hour or two where the kids get to read and rest. Really, it's an attempt to get them to sleep, though my oldest has been fighting that since she was two. Today, she actually gave in. After a quick power nap myself, I hopped downstairs to catch up on my journal. Hurray.

On homeschooling.

I'm contemplating homeschooling. I know. I must be crazy. Tim has proposed the idea for years - easy for him to say. We live in a great neighborhood with an excellent elementary school packed with teachers who truly love what they do and care about their students (with only a few exceptions, or so I'm told). I had no problems sending Anna off to kindergarten. Perhaps it had to do with my being pregnant and seriously needing the afternoon nap that was mine to claim once I dropped her off after lunch.
This year's different. With kindergarten under our belts, I can clearly see what she gained and I'm not terribly impressed. Sure, she made a few new friends. She learned some lessons about relationships, the hard way. She learned to adore her teacher - who was kind and patient with her in spite of her absolute trepidation at approaching adults and new situations. She became more competitive - in a less-than-humble way, declaring herself the "best reader in the class".
While no one can quantify the lessons obtained during a typical year in the public school system, I'm left to wonder: why have we all bought into a system that groups kids together according to age in classrooms exceeding 20 students to one adult? I have no doubt Anna's teacher did her best to accommodate the myriad of abilities and learning styles found in her classroom of 23 five-year-olds she could not possibly spend enough time to truly challenge each student in a way that is unique to him or her. Even taking into account the specialists that worked with individual students regularly. Even with the host of parents volunteering to assist with some of the more mundane tasks, giving Mrs. T. more time to spend one-on-one with the kids. And who can expect more than that? She did the best that she could, given the circumstances and I am grateful to her for her efforts.
Still it begs the question: why do I want to devote seven hours a day, yes, the best seven hours of my child's day for academic learning when she could accomplish the same (or more) in an hour at home? This is my main struggle. After seven hours at school, how much can I claim in which to ensure positive daily interactions with my oldest daughter? Sure, my younger kids at home will have fewer siblings to compete with, but at what cost?
I've decided on a wait-and-see approach, given the daunting thought of teaching homeschool off the cuff with 3 younger children still at home. Who can blame me? If all goes well, I can sweep the whole homeschooling idea under the rug. Heck, even if it does go well, I'm tantalized by the thought of having school for only a few hours a day, weekly field trips, incorporating values into the curriculum (heaven forbid they catch you talking about morals in the public school classroom), and teaming up with other moms who have much to offer me and my children in a lifelong education.
I know some people cringe at the thought of homeschooled kids. Who can deny the stereotypical socially-backwards college freshman whose first experience in a "real" school setting mimics a deer-in-headlights, of sorts. The flip side is also true - though perhaps less documented: the homeschooled child whose well-rounded education has produced an intelligent, well-adjusted, service-oriented, balanced individual. One of the coolest guys I met at BYU was homeschooled - he was all of the above and more.
One thing's for sure. I believe that loving parents are the best teachers of their own children. My experience in Joy School has also taught me that other, trusted adults have much to offer them as well. Each of us has different experiences and skills that render us capable of reaching certain children in a way that even their parents can't, at times. I am grateful for the schoolteachers whose education, skills, and genuine love for their profession touches lives. And yet, I can't help but be disenchanted by a system in which I must relinquish the majority of my child's day so that they can be educated by a stranger, albeit a kind, trained stranger.
Alas. First grade, here we come. Ready or not.

Right on target.

Warning: I'm pretty sure most of my readers have abandoned my blog for Facebook. Jeesh, I post my debut comment on there and have like six responses within an hour. Luckily my poor little blog serves a journaling purpose so I'm not offended. Really, I'm not! Anyway, if you're still reading, be aware that if you don't care to hear about others' bathroom habits, feel free to ignore this post and go back to Facebook. You won't find me (or my bathroom stories) there.

You know how we moms remind our kids before heading out the door that they should go to the bathroom so they won't have to while we're all out and about? And you know how, when they inevitably need to go and we torture them by saying they should have gone before leaving the house they respond with a "But I didn't need to go then!" Well I think it's time my kids gave me a little dose of my own medicine. Because ever since giving birth to my oldest, I've had to go to the bathroom every single time I have entered the toy section of Target. Without exception.
It doesn't happen at Wal-mart, or Albertson's, or Costco, or any of the other stores or places I frequent with my entire clan. Just Target.

I've rearranged the order in which I shop to accommodate this strange phenonmenon. We always tackle the toy section last, because, like clockwork, I will feel the urge as soon as we approach the Barbies. Then it's an extremely uncomfortable five to ten minutes while my kids pick out a birthday present for an upcoming party, mingled with the inevitable "can we buy this?" met with defeat. But in all cases but one, I've thrown in the towel and urged my kids onward toward the front of the store so that I can relieve myself, ignoring the warnings to not bring unpaid-for merchandise into the restrooms. It's all going in.

And we all come out, myself feeling a whole lot better, my kids kind of grossed out by the fact that I shooed every last one of them into one of the disabled stalls (where else would we fit?) so that I could do my business. But I'm proud to say that my kids refrain from the eye-rolling, annoyed sort of behavior I would have displayed had they pulled the same stunt on me. I'm just waiting for the day that they ask me why I didn't go before we left home so that I can respond with a "because I didn't have to go then".